


Little Grey Cells

by lost_spook



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: AU, Community: b7friday, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon, the Great Detective, is about to solve the mystery...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Grey Cells

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the b7friday prompt 'in other settings'; an AU in which Avon is one of those classic 1930s detectives...

Everyone waited with baited breath for the moment of revelation, as the great detective prepared to speak; his associates and the unfortunate suspects gathered together in the library of the Old Grange.

"Despite indications to the contrary and the indisputable fact that he is a violent man with a criminal history, Captain Travis is not the murderer."

The dark-haired man in the army uniform leant back in the leather chair with a smug smile. Avon continued: "However, Inspector, you may safely arrest him for the theft of Miss Cally's diamond necklace, which he has at this very moment in his jacket pocket. I imagine that should give you some satisfaction."

Blake clapped the handcuffs on an indignant Travis. "I won't say it doesn't, but who did the old man in, then?"

"I then considered the Professor," Avon continued, pacing the centre of the room, "who certainly had secrets to hide, but my assistant here leapt to the conclusion he had to be the villain – and since he is almost invariably wrong in these matters -."

"Hey," said Vila, looking up. "Are you saying I'm so thick you rule out a suspect because I think it's them?"

"No, but I believe _you_ just did."

"I don't know why I hang around with you."

"Again, Vila, you said it, not I."

Inspector Blake interrupted. "Avon – the murderer."

"Ah, yes. Having eliminated the Professor, I asked myself about Mr Tarrant – the attempt to frame him was so clumsy it could surely only be a double bluff. However, the affair with the crushed tulips proved he did not have the opportunity, so I can accuse him of no worse crime than being a reckless, young fool."

Tarrant raised an eyebrow. "You've got a nerve, Avon!"

"Sit down," said Cally. "He hasn't finished. And he said you didn't do it. What more do you want?"

Avon swung around abruptly to face the blonde woman leaning against the cabinet, a cigarette holder in one elegant hand at her side. "Which leaves only one possible solution – the innocent, wronged widow, Mrs Alexander – or should I say, the notorious Miss Stannis?"

"Damn you, Avon," said Jenna, dropping the holder in exchange for a small pistol, keeping them covered as she kicked the door out and vanished, the Inspector in close pursuit.

Professor Orac coughed. "Masterly, sir, but if I might point out, there were one or two considerable flaws in your chain of logic -."

"Was I wrong, Professor?"

"If you want to deal in petty, cold facts, no."

"I do," said Avon, giving a smile. "Come on, Vila. I believe our work here is done."

*

"There's just one thing," said Vila as they walked down the gravel drive. "I know Travis was behind most of those robberies, but we both know it wasn't him that snitched those diamonds – it was that Russian countess, what's-her-name. Funny - you didn't mention her."

Avon paused. "Didn't I?" he said. "How unaccountable."


End file.
